Page 83 of After the Rain

I watched Wade's hands clench in his lap. Every question was designed to make our love sound predatory, our family feel dangerous.

"Mr. Mitchell cares about Cooper. He's been nothing but positive influence in our lives."

"Mr. Harrison, do you believe your relationship with Mr. Mitchell is more important than your son's welfare?"

The question was a trap, and we all knew it. Answer yes, and he was an unfit father. Answer no, and he was admitting our relationship was harmful to Cooper.

"I believe Cooper deserves to see his father living authentically and loving openly. I believe families come in all forms, and love makes them strong."

It was a beautiful answer, honest and heartfelt. It was also exactly what the Fletchers' legal team wanted to hear—evidencethat Wade would prioritize his relationship over traditional values, over what they claimed was best for Cooper.

The judge's preliminary ruling was devastating.

Custody would remain with Sarah pending a full investigation. Wade's visitation was reduced to supervised contact only. The court expressed "serious concerns" about Wade's relationship choices and their impact on Cooper's development.

Walking out of that courthouse, I watched Wade lose everything that mattered most—his son, his family, his hope for an authentic life. Wade moved like someone in shock, his attorney's reassurances about appeals and strategy sessions bouncing off him like rain.

In the courthouse parking lot, Wade turned to me with eyes full of devastation.

"It's over," he said simply. "They won."

And for the first time since I'd fallen in love with Wade Harrison, I believed he might be right.

NINETEEN

FINDING LIGHT IN THE DARKNESS

WADE

Isat in my living room surrounded by the debris of my shattered life. Legal papers scattered across the coffee table like evidence of a crime scene. Cooper's toys gathering dust in the corner, his dinosaur figures frozen in mid-battle where he'd left them before the world fell apart. The silence where his laughter used to be felt suffocating, like the house itself was mourning.

I'd lost my son. Sacrificed my relationship with Ezra. The future I'd dared to imagine—morning breakfasts with dinosaur-shaped toast, treehouse bedtime stories, lazy Sunday afternoons building the life we'd found together—all of it lay in ruins around me.

The knock at my door came just as I was considering whether the bottle of whiskey in my kitchen cabinet might make the silence more bearable. I almost didn't answer, couldn't imagine facing another well-meaning neighbor with casseroles and sympathy. But the knocking persisted, sharp and insistent.

Jazz stood on my porch with a bottle of Jameson and the kind of expression that meant she wasn't taking no for an answer.

"You look like shit," she said, pushing past me into the house.

"Thanks. Really needed to hear that right now."

"What you need is to stop wallowing." Jazz surveyed the wreckage of my living room with the practical eye of someone who'd seen her share of disasters. "This is bullshit, and we both know it. But feeling sorry for yourself isn't going to get Cooper back or fix what's broken."

She poured whiskey into two coffee mugs—the fancy glasses felt too civilized for the kind of conversation we were about to have.

"Jazz, you don't understand. They destroyed me in there. Made me look like some kind of predator for loving Ezra, like I'm endangering my own son by being honest about who I am."

"I understand plenty." She handed me a mug and settled into Cooper's favorite chair like she belonged there. "I also understand that feeling defeated is a luxury you can't afford right now. We need a plan, not a pity party."

"What plan? You saw what they brought to court. Teams of lawyers, expert witnesses, enough money to bury me in legal fees until I give up. I'm one guy with a mortgage and a broken heart."

Jazz's smile was sharp as a blade. "You're one guy with more allies than you realize. I've been making calls since the hearing. The construction community is small, Wade, and the Fletchers have enemies."

I looked up from my whiskey, catching something in her tone that made my pulse quicken. "What kind of enemies?"

"The kind that have been waiting years for someone brave enough to stand up to Richard Fletcher's bullshit." Jazz leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "You think he built his empire on honest dealing and faircontracts? Hell no. That man's career is built on dirty deals and intimidation. There are people willing to testify about his business practices, his character, his real motivations for destroying you."

The possibility of fighting back emerged from the ashes of my defeat like a phoenix I'd never expected to see. "People would actually do that?"

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